


Direct Your Attention To My Crotch

by sabinelagrande



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 666 Stories Aw Yeah, Autofellatio, Clint Barton Is Not Subtle, Cock Worship, Dick Jokes, Dick Measuring Contests, F/M, Farce, First Time, Getting Together, Greek Mythology References, Humor, I Did It For The Lulz, I REGRET NOTHING, M/M, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, People Who Can Judge Me: God, Phil Coulson Never Asked For This, Safer Sex, Silly, Size Kink, Texting, Tony Doesn't Count, Tony No, Tony Stark: World's Worst Wingman, Trolling, You heard me, but only kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Clint Barton has the D, Phil Coulson does not want the D, and Tony Stark should be ashamed of himself for ever uttering that phrase.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize greatly to both Brendon Small and The Lonely Island. 
> 
> If you think that's a ridiculous sentence to find in an author's note, you probably shouldn't read this story.

The mission, from what Phil had gathered from the comms and the video feeds, had been a success. There was minimal property damage this time, thank god, despite the fact that five city blocks and six Avengers were covered in green ooze. The ooze seemed to be inert, but Fury had a thing about "people tracking ooze into my nice clean house, goddammit", so it was a trip through the decontamination showers for everybody before the debriefing.

Phil stood at the other end, where the team would exit after getting dressed. They didn't really need a welcome home party, but sometimes it helped to have a familiar face and a reminder not to fuck off immediately.

Steve was the first out. "Afternoon, Captain," Phil said pleasantly. He frowned when Steve kept walking, muttering something about perverts under his breath.

It was a few more minutes before anyone else emerged. This time it was Stark; he didn't acknowledge Phil either. "I lost!" he said in disbelief, apparently to no one. "How did I lose?"

Thor and Clint weren't far behind him. Thor was laughing heartily, patting Clint on the back. "Son of Coul!" Thor said to Phil. "Truly I have been bested this day!"

Clint shrugged, though he had a very smug smile on his face. "Just good luck, I guess," he said. Thor just laughed again, leading him away.

While Phil was still wondering what the hell, Natasha came out, still scrubbing her hair with a towel. "Dick measuring contest," she told him, like it was a completely normal thing to say. "Steve wouldn't compete and Bruce isn't back yet, so it wasn't really fair, but Clint still would have won. I told them they didn't have a chance, but of course they didn't listen."

After a moment, Natasha reached over and put her fingers underneath Phil's jaw, gently closing his mouth for him.

"The, uh," Phil stammered. "Uh. Brief. Debrief. Debriefing. It's in ten minutes."

Natasha pecked him on the cheek. "Sorry I broke your brain," she said, walking away.

Phil shook his head, trying to get it back together. It wasn't exactly easy, but he managed it somehow. As long as he could focus on the job and not anyone's anatomy, he could get through this.

The debriefing went as well as could be expected. Thor still wasn't quite used to telling the story of a battle without turning it into a saga, but Steve diplomatically corrected him when it got particularly out of hand. Bruce wandered in somewhere around the middle, a little dazed; Phil knew he mostly came to debriefings to find out what happened, not to contribute. Natasha was as direct as usual, used to years of these things. The only sign that anything out of the ordinary had happened was the way that Tony kept staring daggers at Clint.

Phil sighed internally. This was going to end in trouble.

As they left, Tony cornered Clint. "You cheated," Tony said, narrowing his eyes.

Clint raised an eyebrow at him. "How did I cheat at having the biggest dick?"

"I don't know yet," Tony said. "But I'm going to find out."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Clint said, with that same smug look. Tony glared at him before walking out.

Phil shook his head, holding the door open. "I don't want to hear more about this, Barton," he warned. Telling Tony something like that would be an exercise in futility.

Clint gave him a funny little smirk. "Course not, sir."

Phil looked at him suspiciously, but Clint didn't say anything else, just left.

Phil already knew that it was not going to be the last he heard about it.

Phil got through the rest of the day without thinking about it, too caught up in things that were definitely not arousing. However, he actually did have a life outside of SHIELD, despite appearances, and once he got home, it was hard to distract himself anymore.

It probably wouldn't have been as big of a deal if he hadn't had a point of reference, but very unfortunately, Phil had seen Tony's dick before. It was only once, the result of a miscommunication about a late-night SHIELD housecall to the Tower. It had been mercifully brief, but there were some things you simply couldn't unsee, and Tony Stark's dick was in that category.

And the thing was, Phil understood why Tony thought he'd win. Granted, Phil had no idea why he'd thought he could beat _Thor_ , who was at least four inches taller and literally a fertility god. He wasn't sure Tony could take on Steve, either, but Phil knew he'd have been banking on Steve not playing. But against Clint or Bruce, Tony stood a good chance. Tony was bigger than average; Phil was man enough to admit that Tony was beating _him_ , and Phil wasn't exactly ashamed of himself.

But if Clint was beating Tony _and_ Thor-

Phil spent way more time thinking about it than the sixty seconds it deserved.

Phil managed to put it out of his mind, concentrating instead on his book, but suddenly his phone went off. No one ever texted him on his personal phone, but apparently he had a message from Pepper.

`Tony is making me text you. This is NOT my idea jsyk`

He frowned. This wasn't going anywhere good.

` **Why?** `

` He wants a picture of Clint's penis`

Phil stared at his phone for a moment, unsure what to say, but the phone dinged again before he could respond.

`Erect, pref next to a ruler. Tony said, not me`  
`I'm a grower, not a shower -TS, Pepper is a prude`  
`Use metric -TS`

It took Phil a full minute to get it together enough to answer.

` **Where am I supposed to get one?** `

` Idk, office depot? -TS`

Phil didn't smack himself in the forehead, but it was a near thing.

` **Have a ruler. A picture** `

` Ask him obv, Pep would give you 1 of me -TS`

Phil quickly typed his answer.

` **PEPPER DO NOT SEND ME THAT** `  
` **You + Pep != me + Barton** `

` Nice notation, but that = BS -TS`

Phil frowned. Nothing about this conversation made sense, but he was sure it wasn't going in his favor.

` **What does that mean?** `

` You're among friends -TS`

Very suddenly it dawned on Phil.

` **I am not with Barton** `  
` **Barton and I, not a thing** `  
` **All in your head** `

` W/e Psyche, just send pics -TS`  
`I am SO sorry - P`

Phil had to look that last bit up on Wikipedia to even get it. When he did, he sat back on his couch, putting his arm over his face.

Why was he friends with Stark, again?

His phone rang, and he didn't even look at the screen before raising it to his ear. "Stark, I'm not going to do it, so give it up."

"If it involves Tony, I wouldn't do it either," the voice at the other end said.

Phil sat up. "Clint."

"Me and Natasha are going for pizza," Clint said. "You wanna come? You can have my mushrooms."

Phil pressed his fingertips to his forehead, shutting his eyes. Normally he'd have said yes without a thought, but he didn't know if he could go through it right at the moment. "I already ate," he said, even though the full contents of his fridge were orange juice, soy sauce, and half a stick of butter.

"Wanna tag along anyway, provide color commentary?" Clint asked.

"Early day tomorrow," Phil lied.

"Oh," Clint said, sounding disappointed. "Okay, well, we'll see you. Bye."

Clint hung up, and Phil sighed. He was being an asshole for no reason. Last month Tony had been completely convinced that Natasha and Steve were involved, but that clearly wasn't true. He just liked to make things up to make his life more interesting, because only Tony could get bored with a life like Tony's.

Phil looked at his phone. He should really call Clint back, make up an excuse about his excuse, not act like an idiot just because Tony said something stupid- because really, doing _anything_ based on Tony's actions made him just about the biggest idiot he could possibly be.

He picked up the phone and ordered Chinese. Maybe he just needed a minute alone to process.

\--

` **This is just Pep, right, not Tony?** `

` All me. What do you need?`

` **Tony: kidding or serious about me and Barton?** `

` No clue. Prob pulling your pigtails- trust me, am expert.`

\--

Of all the things that Phil had to do for his job, getting things to Tony was probably the worst. Nine times out of ten, Phil just emailed it to him, cc'd Pepper, and that was the end of that. However, being a secret organization and all, there was such a thing as eyes only, and if Phil did not physically carry the information to him, put it in front of his face, then carry it away again, it wouldn't be eyes only for long. Of course, Tony still had no real respect for information security, but at least this way, fewer people would get details.

Phil had once suggested that another agent could be assigned to take care of this task. Fury had laughed him out of the room.

Phil found Tony in one of the common rooms of the Tower, eating a hamburger the size of his head and doing something to a hologram that didn't make any sense to Phil. Phil really wished he'd have caught Tony in his office or somewhere more private, but he wasn't entirely sure Tony remembered that he _had_ an office. Here, anybody could wander by and listen in; though all of them were trustworthy, Phil didn't need a talking to about handing out information unnecessarily.

Plus Phil was maybe avoiding Clint. He didn't feel good about it; it was just a thing that was happening.

"There's my favorite agent," Tony said, waving the hologram away. "Except maybe Natasha. Is Natasha still technically an agent? Because no offense, but she's hotter than you." He considered this. "Then again, you probably wouldn't break my arm for calling you hot, so maybe you are my favorite after all."

Phil put the tablet down next to Tony and waited for him to pick it up; Phil had given up that battle long before. "Review this. I'm taking it with me when I leave."

Tony picked up the tablet, studying it. "You do know that even as we speak, I could have Jarvis take images of all of this, right?"

Phil resisted the urge to sigh. It had already been a long day. "Are you familiar with the term 'security theater', Stark?"

"See, this is why you're my favorite," Tony said. Phil sat down across from him, watching Tony go through the data. "So what's up with you and Clint? Lover's quarrel?"

"There's no me and Clint," Phil said firmly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're not talking to him," Tony said, flicking to another page. "He's mopey."

Phil had really, really hoped that Clint hadn't noticed or cared that Phil was turning down chances to see him. He wasn't doing it on purpose, except for the part where he was. Tony's accusations had unfortunately had too much of an effect on him. Had he and Clint really gotten that close without Phil noticing? What did Clint think was going on here? If Phil wanted to take this to the next level- which he didn't, obviously, that would be silly- what would Clint say?

He kept telling himself over and over again that Tony was wrong, that he didn't know about these things, that he was just being his garden variety asshole self. However, accidentally catching Natasha and Steve embracing in the elevator, just as Tony had foretold, did nothing to help.

"Clint's mood has nothing to do with me," Phil said.

"You keep telling yourself that," Tony said. "If you're not actually together- which you are, so stop lying- will you please fuck him? He's sad-eating all my junk food."

"You can buy more," Phil said.

"I'm not sacrificing my Funyuns so you and Clint can angst over each other," Tony said. "If it helps, focus on his great big dick. Still waiting for pictures, by the way."

"One, that would be completely inappropriate," Phil said. "Two, even if I had access to it, I would not give you a picture of it."

"Hey, if you want to keep Clint's dick to yourself, that's your prerogative," Tony said. "But if I don't get pictures, Clint forfeits."

"Is Clint aware that he's playing?" Phil asked.

"Probably not," Tony said, looking up from his tablet. "Get ready, Casanova."

Phil didn't even have to turn around to know he was fucked.

"Oh look, it's the man of the hour," Tony said, as Clint approached.

Clint looked suspiciously between the two of them. "What are you two talking about?"

"You," Tony said.

Phil put his hand over his face. "We're talking about how Tony is twelve years old."

"We're talking about how Coulson wants the D," Tony said. Phil looked at him blankly. "Don't you ever use the internet?"

"Whatever you just said, I'm going to go ahead and assume it's not true," Phil said.

Tony leaned towards Clint. "Don't listen to him," he said in a stage whisper. "He wants the D. He's just not up on his slang."

"Uh," Clint said, looking confused. "Okay."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Okay, maybe I'm twelve, but the rest of you are eighty."

"Are you finished?" Phil asked.

"Baiting you, or with the tablet?" Tony said. "Either way, the answer is no." He motioned to Clint. "I'm going to be a while. Barton, take Phil to lunch. Don't let him say no. He's just intimidated by your-"

"Thank you, Stark," Phil said.

Clint scratched the back of his neck. "Uh, actually I was just about to go out, if you wanted to come with."

"Say yes," Tony urged. "Think about the D."

Phil rubbed his forehead. "I can't," he said. "I have to remain with the documents. You know how it is."

"You're a fucking idiot," Tony said. He put the tablet down. "I'm done."

"You just said two seconds ago that you weren't," Phil told him.

"I was lying," Tony said.

"I'm just gonna go to lunch," Clint said slowly. "See ya."

"Are you _trying_ to suck at this?" Tony hissed at Phil, as Clint walked away.

Phil scooped up the tablet. "As always, thank you for your cooperation, Mister Stark."

"See if I try to be your wingman ever again, Coulson!" Tony shouted behind him, but Phil didn't stop.

\--

`Tony says good luck on mission, wonders why you won't give him your phone number`

` **Not dignifying w answer** `

\--

It wasn't a bad mission, in the grand scheme of things. For once, Clint's newfound status as a superhero was a help to the mission, not a liability. For an Avenger, a suite in a sold-out hotel suddenly became vacant; an exclusive party suddenly had a spare invite. And then for an unassuming secret agent posing as a keeper, it was nothing to drug the target, take him away on the pretense of helping him to his room, and have him loaded quietly into the back of a black van.

So really, not that bad at all, even if the champagne was noticeably cheap and some drunk asshole inexplicably cornered him to complain about Clint's archery for ten minutes. Phil didn't know why he wasn't talking to Clint; after a while, Phil started to wonder if he thought he _was_ talking to Clint. Then it was back up to the room, and that was it.

Except that they'd be staying until the next morning to keep up appearances, and it was just him and Clint in the room, and even though there was a sitting room, there was just the one bed. Phil was too damn old to sleep on an uncomfortable couch just because of the possibility of an awkward situation, so here they were.

Him and Clint.

Alone in the room.

In one bed.

Clint really sucked at formalwear. His tie was crooked, with a knot that was just all wrong, and his vest never even made it out of the room. Clint was, however, great at getting out of formalwear, despite the fact that Phil almost caught a shoe to the face when Clint kicked it off with a little too much enthusiasm.

Phil undid his tie and rolled it up, taking his jacket off and hanging it. Some people around here actually knew what they were doing; Phil couldn't resist the urge to pick Clint's jacket up from where he had carelessly dropped it. He still had it in his hands when Clint spoke.

"Hey," Clint said. That voice meant trouble. Bad trouble.

Phil stalled, hanging Clint's jacket up, smoothing out the wrinkles. When he finally turned around, he immediately wished he hadn't.

Clint was sitting on the corner of the bed, his legs splayed out. He had his arms behind him, palms flat on the bed, and it was basically the most enticing fuck me pose that Phil had seen in a long time. The fact that Clint was down to a pair of black boxers definitely contributed to the image, especially when they left approximately nothing to the imagination.

So that was happening. That was a thing that was certainly happening, and it was certainly happening in front of Phil.

"Um," Phil said.

Clint cocked his head, beckoning. "Why don't you come on over?"

"Uh," Phil said.

"I figured everything out, why you're being so weird," Clint said, grinning. "I think Tony was right. I think you do want it. It being my-"

Phil held up a hand, finally finding his capacity for language again. Actually, now he was kind of pissed off, though he couldn't quite articulate why. Fuck Tony for getting him into this position; it was the middle of the mission and his asset was offering him cheap sex for no reason. This might have been a milk run, but there was no reason to get distracted.

There was also this thing where he was kinda figuring out that cheap sex with Clint wasn't what he wanted.

"Yes, thank you," Phil said. "I can spell, I figured it out."

"C'mon," Clint said. "How could you not?"

Phil raised an eyebrow at him. "Just because you're-" He flicked his eyes down towards Clint's crotch and back up again- "gifted, you think everybody wants it? Not all of us are size queens."

"I can't believe you just used the phrase 'size queen'," Clint said.

"I can't believe you think this seduction technique is going to work," Phil said.

"Chicken?" Clint challenged.

Phil sighed. "I am not afraid of your dick, Barton, no matter how big you think it is."

Clint looked put out. "What do you mean, 'think'?"

"Go to sleep," Phil said, going into the bathroom.

Phil undressed, stepping into the shower. He did not turn the cold water on full blast, jerk off, or bang his head against the wall, but he thought about all of these things in turn.

By the time Phil was finished with his shower, Clint was under the covers, already asleep- or pretending to be. And Phil could have done it, maybe should have, almost did; it would have been so easy to get in next to Clint, to wrap his arms around him and say he was sorry, to tell him how stupid he was for passing up his chance. Clint would forgive him, say he understood even if he didn't, and then Phil could ride his cock all night long.

Let's all be honest: Phil had been thinking about it. Phil had been thinking about it a _lot_. Phil had, quite obviously, seen Clint in his underwear, but it was only enough to tell him that Clint fit into the general category of large. Clint's dick was getting quite a reputation, though, and Phil really, really wanted to find out how much of it was true. Size appreciation had never really been his thing, but Phil was maybe ready to give it a try. He wondered what it would feel like in his mouth, stretching his lips wide; more than that he wondered how it would feel _inside_ of him, spreading him open, filling him up. He didn't even know if he could take it all, and something about that made him want to try.

Phil got into bed on his own side, as far from Clint as he could get. He turned out the light and went to sleep, and he didn't move an inch closer.

There wasn't much packing to do in the morning, other than reassembling their suits in their garment bags. Clint sat on the bed, pulling on his boots while Phil tied his tie.

"Hey," Clint said, and Phil didn't turn around this time, keeping his eyes on the mirror. "About last night- I guess I was just a little drunk, is all."

Phil didn't bring up the fact that Clint had held the same flute of champagne in his hand all night long without drinking a drop of it. "It's nothing," he said. He could see Clint in the mirror, but Clint was looking away. "Don't worry about it."

"Okay," Clint said, standing up, though he didn't sound okay at all. "Are we ready? I could destroy some brunch."

"I don't think people usually use 'destroy' and 'brunch' in the same sentence," Phil said, turning around.

Clint shrugged. His manner was stiff, uneasy, and Phil suddenly realized the level to which he'd fucked up, which was a lot worse than he'd thought at the time. "Then I could consume it with gusto, or whatever the fuck people do at brunch."

Phil took down the garment bags. "Good enough for me."

\--

` **Screwed up my life sos please advise** `

` Is this about the D?`

` **Goddammit Tony don't you have your own phone** `

` You never call, you never write`

` **Where's Pepper?** `

` Get off the phone to my woman and go get your man. You're cut off until I see Barton's dick, and that's final.`

\--

Phil sincerely wished he didn't have to do this at the Tower, but it wasn't really the kind of thing Phil could invite Clint to his place for; Phil wasn't sure at this point whether Clint would even accept his invitation.

So maybe he was planning an ambush. Desperate times.

Fortunately, Phil was good at sweet-talking Jarvis, and he got to Clint's floor without seeing Tony. "I regret to inform you that Agent Barton is not accepting visitors," Jarvis said when they reached it.

"Then why did you bring me up here?" Phil said, before he realized he was getting snippy with an AI. "Please inform Barton that there is a code seven-oh-two and Agent Sitwell is requesting immediate entrance."

The doors slid open, revealing Clint; when he saw Phil, he looked extremely unamused. "There's no seven-oh-two, is there."

"Nope," Phil said. "Can we talk?"

Clint sighed, stepping aside. "Go for it."

Phil sat down in one of the chairs in Clint's living room, and Clint flopped down heavily on the couch. Clint had basically unlimited access to Stark's funds with which to furnish his apartment, but his furniture still looked like he bought it at a thrift store.

"Things have gotten a little screwed up," Phil said, because he couldn't think of a better opener. "Lately, I-"

"Look, I know why you're here, so let's just get it out of the way," Clint said, sounding resigned. "I don't know if I came on too strong, or if Tony made it all up, or if you're not into it. You don't have to give me an excuse. Let's just put it behind us."

"This wasn't about that," Phil told him, resisting the urge to shake him. "I was never concerned with your dick, Clint."

Clint's brow furrowed. "You weren't?"

"I was concerned because Stark thought we were dating," Phil said.

Clint shut down, his body going tense. "And you wouldn't date me."

Phil realized he was rapidly losing his chance at the D, and he hated, hated, _hated_ Tony for bringing that phrase into his life. "I never said that."

"No, it's cool," Clint said, shrugging. "We don't need to talk about it."

"Clint, please don't be like that," Phil said gently. "Just listen to me." He sighed. "First I thought Stark made it up, then I thought it might have actually happened, then I was convinced that it was all in my head and you didn't actually want it. I didn't want to get my hopes up for nothing."

"Didn't want it?" Clint said, giving him a look of disbelief. "After I came on to you in the least subtle way possible?"

"It was during a mission," Phil told him, "and I thought you were being, well." Phil shrugged. "A dick."

"I was ready to fuck you right then and there if you'd said so," Clint told him.

Phil tried not to dwell on that statement, at least not at the moment. "I don't care how big your dick is, I don't do meaningless sex. It's not worth it. If we're doing this, we're doing it with intent. No one night stands. No friends with benefits."

"I don't want to have meaningless sex with you," Clint told him. "Me and my big dick want to have very meaningful sex with you."

"How sweet of it," Phil said dryly. "I'm serious about this."

"Me too," Clint said, getting up. He walked over, standing in front of Phil. "I've wanted this for a really long time. I thought it would never happen, and I thought all this just fucked it up more. If you want me to prove that I'm serious and not just trying to fuck you, we can go as slow as you want." He held out his hand. "But I'd definitely rather you came to the bedroom with me right now."

Phil looked at him for a long moment.

"Well," Phil said, putting his hand in Clint's. "If you insist."

\--

` **Have something for Tony.** `

` Oh god. Go for it`

` **Sorry for using inches. Couldn't get a meterstick this time of night** `

` Ok I deserved that, but could have done without the thumbs up. Congrats on the sex tho -TS`

` **Do i win. Cb** `

` Go to bed. -TS`

Clint grinned, handing the phone back to Phil. Phil kissed him on the top of the head, putting the phone back on the nightstand.

In the end, Phil won, and he did it without even showing his dick.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you really think we were getting out of here without any porn? What's wrong with you?

Phil pushed Clint down onto the bed, climbing on top of him. Later they could do sweet and slow and simple, but right now, Phil wanted to get Clint as naked as possible as fast as possible. It wasn't the easiest thing in the world, not when they couldn't seem to part for long enough to get their stubborn clothing off, but they did it somehow. Phil managed to reach naked first, and it was a little too hard to resist rubbing off against Clint. It seemed a little unfair, though, since Clint was still in his underwear; Phil distracted him with a kiss and made a less than graceful grab for his waistband, but Clint slapped his hands away.

"All of this build-up, and you're not going to let me see it?" Phil said. "Come _on_."

"I just want you to be prepared for this," Clint said. "Are you really positive you can handle it?"

"Did anyone ever tell you you're an asshole?" Phil said.

"Just want to be sure," Clint said.

"If you don't take it out, I'm not going to handle it at all," Phil threatened.

Clint grinned, lifting up the waistband of his boxers and carefully taking them off, kicking them away somewhere. Phil's eyebrows shot up.

That was a big dick.

It was definitely the biggest Phil had ever seen in person; Phil didn't exactly go around examining dicks for a living or anything, but he took gym, he was in the Army, sometimes you just saw dicks. None of them came anywhere close to this.

Phil was not entirely sure he was up to this task, but by god he was going to try.

He very suddenly remembered that he had revenge to get. "Hold on, hold on."

"Yeah?" Clint said, sounding concerned.

"Do you have a ruler?" Phil asked.

Clint looked at him in confusion. "I have a tape measure."

"Go grab it," Phil told him. Clint was clearly skeptical. "Trust me. We're going to make Tony's life hell."

"On it," Clint said, hopping up. Phil grabbed his phone as Clint rummaged around, coming up with the tape measure.

Phil set up his shot, handing Clint the phone. "Take two, just in case."

"This better not be on Instagram," Clint grumbled, taking the picture. "Okay, got it." Clint took the tape measure back, immediately tossing it over his shoulder. "Now back to my dick."

"You're so wonderfully subtle," Phil told him.

"I used to be able to suck it," Clint said casually, and Phil's brain shorted out. "Not sure if I still can. I was more flexible when I was younger."

Phil swallowed. "Never know until you try."

That was when Phil discovered Clint was a dirty liar. With a grin, Clint sucked in his stomach, did a frontbend, and with a little maneuvering, took the head of his own cock into his mouth. 

Phil couldn't do anything but stare for a very long time, caught up in the sight of it. Phil didn't even know why it was so hot, just that it was, extraordinarily so. Clint didn't have a very broad range of movement, but who the fuck cared? He was still living the dream.

"You practiced that," Phil accused, when his brain restarted.

Clint pulled away, straightening up and popping his back. "Wouldn't you?" He put his hand around his cock, stroking it slowly. "Want a taste, or am I gonna have to do it myself?"

"I need a second to consider this," Phil said, and Clint fell back onto the bed, banging his head against the pillow. "Not like that," Phil said, unamused. "I just need a plan of attack."

"It's not like it's complicated," Clint said.

"Maybe not to you, but it's your dick," Phil replied, getting on his knees between Clint's legs.

"It's not like you don't-" Clint was cut off when Phil wrapped his hand around Clint's dick, stroking it as he leaned up to kiss him.

"You talk too much," Phil said, kissing him again before moving down Clint's body. Then he was eye-level with a very big dick and still lacked any plan at all past 'open mouth, insert penis', but the time had come to do this thing.

Clint groaned appreciatively as Phil took his cock into his hand, holding it still so that he could run his tongue along it, feeling the shape of it, the texture, the taste. It took a minute to psych himself up to actually suck it, opening his mouth wide and closing his lips around it. He felt like he could barely get any of it in, like it was just too much to handle. He tried again, moving his head, taking a little more each time; he was getting better, but he needed more.

"Jesus Christ," Clint said breathlessly. "God, you're good at that."

Phil pulled off, looking at him skeptically. "That's what you call good? What kind of amateur hour have you been attending?" Before Clint could respond, Phil took him down again, sucking harder, moving his hand, and Clint made a ridiculous noise. It was intensely gratifying; Clint had him completely off balance, but Phil was making a comeback, making Clint come unbalanced for him.

Phil had really thought this wasn't his thing, that he'd do it, sate his curiosity, and then proceed as normal. That was not actually what was happening. In point of fact, he felt like he could do this all day long, just sit there with his mouth around Clint's dick, licking and sucking it until his lips were cracked, his throat raw. He imagined keeping Clint right there on the edge, making him wait for it, refusing to let him come until he screamed for it.

Another day, he was going to do just that. Tonight, there was an agenda.

He pulled away from Clint's cock, giving it a few final licks. "Fuck me," Phil said.

"Sure about that?" Clint asked.

"That was not a request, Barton," Phil said.

"C'mere," Clint said, motioning for Phil. He gladly went, bracing himself above Clint and bending down to kiss him; he should have been paying more attention, because Clint flipped them over, pressing him against the mattress. He reached over and pulled out the nightstand drawer, producing a bottle of lubricant, and Phil spread his legs gladly. Clint spilled lube on Phil's stomach in his haste, but it was a lot less interesting than Clint's fingers inside of him, pressing in gently.

"Gonna have to do a little better than that if you want this to work," Phil told him, even though it felt fucking great already.

"You try to give a guy a warmup, and this is the thanks you get," Clint said, working his fingers deeper into Phil's ass, sliding them all the way in and out. He worked Phil open slowly, three fingers and then four, adding more lube as he went; Phil just really wanted his dick, but he didn't protest, knowing that he'd need every second of the prep if that thing was going inside him.

"How do you want it?" Clint asked finally, biting at Phil's earlobe.

Phil resisted the urge to say something truthful yet unproductive, like 'now' or 'in my ass.' "Let me ride you," he said instead.

"Good plan," Clint said, letting him up and reaching for a condom. "Great plan. Best plan." He lay back down, hurriedly tearing the condom open and rolling it on, slicking himself up thoroughly.

Phil took a breath, letting it out slowly.

"You look like you're about to get on the pommel horse," Clint said, raising an eyebrow at him.

Phil swung a leg over his hips, straddling him. "Can you really blame me?"

"Point," Clint said, reaching down to hold his cock in place. "Careful, just go slow."

In another situation, Phil would have admonished him for that, but this was a little bit of a special circumstance. He braced himself on Clint's chest with one arm, letting Clint guide him down. Phil had to make a conscious effort not to tense up, to keep his breathing even. It was hard; no matter how much he wanted this, his body kept reminding him that it was something that he really should not be attempting.

Clint felt massive inside of him; he'd never felt anything like it, never felt so full in his entire life. It felt like it was never going to stop, just keep spreading him out, pushing him open. He kept moving, incrementally taking more of Clint's cock; if he was doing this, he was doing this, and he was going to take every last inch.

After forever, it stopped, Clint's dick all the way inside of him. Phil felt kind of like he had triumphed and kind of like he was about to die. He moved experimentally, feeling it shift inside of him, savoring it, the stretch, the feeling of satisfaction.

"Oh my god," Phil panted.

"Take your time," Clint said, though he sounded almost pained.

"You okay?" Phil asked.

"Just, y'know, trying not to come at the worst possible moment," Clint replied. "You're so fucking _tight_."

"You're huge," Phil told him. "Everything's a tight fit for you."

"Can you shut up and take the compliment?" Clint said.

"That was a compliment?" Phil asked.

"Less talking," Clint said, rocking his hips up, and Phil saw stars. "More riding."

It wasn't the easiest thing to do, and it took Phil a minute to get the hang of it, lifting up and dropping down, working into a steady rhythm. Clint mostly looked like he was going to die at any moment, but in a good way; he gripped Phil's hips tightly, helping him along. It felt so much better than Phil had imagined, and Phil had been imagining it a lot. Phil lost track of time entirely, just focusing on Clint inside of him, underneath him, the way he panted and swore and said Phil's name, the feel of their bodies together.

It was so good, so, so good, but Phil couldn't last like this, not as long as he wanted; he was going to do this all night long if he could, but not this way.

Phil reluctantly slowed down, stopping. "What's wrong?" Clint asked, frowning.

"I want more, but my back is killing me," Phil admitted.

"My turn to drive," Clint told him, pushing him carefully away. Phil couldn't stop the noise of loss that he made when Clint pulled out of him, but hopefully it wasn't too terribly noticeable. "Get on your hands and knees." 

Phil hurried into position, though Clint's attempts to help were more of a hindrance than anything. He got ready, mentally preparing himself for Clint pushing in again, but the next thing he felt was Clint's thumbs gently spreading him open. 

Clint made an appreciative noise, but when Phil turned his head to glare at him, Clint wasn't paying attention. "You should see what you look like," Clint told him. "All stretched open from my cock."

Phil let his head hang, trying to pretend he wasn't blushing. "Are we doing this or not?"

"Give me a minute," Clint chided.

"Don't make me beg," Phil said.

"I wonder if you would," Clint said. "I wonder what I could do to make you beg for it."

"You're about to find out what you can do to make me kick you in the face," Phil told him.

Phil jumped when Clint bit his ass lightly. "You're no fun." 

Before Phil could make any more comments, Clint pressed into him, curling his hands around Phil's hips and pulling Phil back onto his dick. Phil moaned as Clint started to really fuck him; it was different this way, easier for Clint to move harder, faster.

"You're not gonna walk for a week once I'm done with you," Clint told him.

Phil went down on his elbows, pressing his cheek against the bed. "Nope," he said. "You can take care of me when I can't get out of bed."

Clint laughed. "If you let me do that, you're not gonna walk for a _month_."

"Where do I have to go anyway?" Phil said. "I'd rather let you fuck me all day."

"I love the way you think," Clint told him.

Clint shut up after that, too distracted blowing Phil's mind. Phil couldn't really do anything but make incoherent noises into the mattress as Clint fucked him. There was a strong possibility that there was no going back from this, no way to be satisfied after he'd had Clint. It sounded very much like something from bad porn, but it made perfect sense at the time; why would he want anything but this ever again?

Phil protested when Clint suddenly pulled out of him. "Turn over," Clint said, grabbing the pillow, stuffing it under Phil's hips once he'd done it. He pushed in hard, stretching out over Phil, their faces close together. "I want to see your face when I make you come for me."

Phil moaned. "If you keep saying shit like that, you'll see it in about thirty seconds."

Clint kissed him hard, taking Phil's dick into his hand and stroking him quickly. "Gonna make you come around my cock," Clint said. "Make you come so hard you can't remember your own name."

Clint fucked him harder, deeper, and Phil just didn't know how much more of this he could take, how much sensation. "I'm so fucking close," Phil panted, clutching at Clint's back. "I'm right there-"

"Yeah," Clint said, moving his hand faster on Phil's dick. "Yeah, god, Phil-"

Phil gasped when he came, his cock shooting all over his stomach; he was pretty sure he'd never come harder in his entire life, but the look on Clint's face when he gave it up was almost as satisfying, the way he looked down at Phil in wonder, like he couldn't believe what had happened, couldn't believe his luck.

Clint sighed heavily, and for a moment, there was nothing but the two of them breathing together, worn out and sore and so, so sated.

That lasted about sixty seconds before Clint collapsed onto him, burying his face into Phil's neck, but Phil forgave him.

"You totally wanted the D," Clint said, some minutes later, after they'd taunted Stark and made a half-assed attempt at cleaning up that only really resulted in the two of them falling back in bed.

"Can we make an agreement never to use that phrase again?" Phil said.

"Why are you ashamed of the D?" Clint asked.

"I am going to kick you out of this bed if you say that one more time," Phil told him.

"This is my bed," Clint said. "You can't kick me out."

"Watch me," Phil replied.

Clint turned towards him, throwing an arm over him, his legs tangled with Phil's. "I'm taking you to dinner tomorrow night."

"What for?" Phil asked.

"You wanted meaningful sex," Clint said. "Meaningful sex starts with dinner and flowers and shit."

"We already had the sex," Phil pointed out.

"I'm paying," Clint said.

"I can't," Phil told him. When he felt Clint start to tense, he quickly added, "We have a late briefing. You're taking me to dinner Thursday."

"Good deal," Clint said, cuddling closer.

It really was a pretty good deal, as far as Phil was concerned.


End file.
